Longing

19 Jun

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The cycling wanker that I have had many cross words with who rides up until he can ride no more to get the train on the opposite platform has proved himself to be even more of a cock today. It was like watching a 12 year old girl across the playground staking the claim in her mind for the 15 year old boy that she wants to snog at the school disco. Christ it is embarrassing – he must be older than I am and did the same to a woman on my side of the tracks. She was completely oblivious to his amorous stare but he didn’t shift, leaning nonchalantly against his shit bike and trying to look as appealing as possible. It’s a shame he didn’t lose his footing and end up in the tracks because I don’t think I would have ever stopped laughing. The ball airer was waiting for me when I arrived and he was stuffing his already rotund face with a packet of biscuits that he thought were well hidden in his pocket. It was the sound of chomping akin to a pig at a trough that drew my attention to it and the continued hand to pocket to snout routine. Between mouthfuls of food he sipped Diet Coke from a bottle that said James but he isn’t a James, he is more of a Neville or a Norman. You can see the newly shorn hair but he is greasing the back in a comb over to the front to hide the thinning. Vile. Time to post as the Mail reader has penned me in and my arm is aching now. Until this evening.

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Sorry for the spelling mistakes but it was posted with WordPress for BlackBerry dahling.

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